I took some photographs on the way into work of some people in Brixton market. Being a little paranoid and fearful of bad lads accusing me of photographing them illegally, and subsequently punching me to a bloody pulp, I used a wide angle lens and let the camera hang from its strap at belly level, and pretended to talk into my mobile phone. This allows me to creep close to my prey and (the wonders of autofocus) take quite interesting pictures of unsuspecting people in the wild.
The Ugly One, having cooked a very acceptable Texan Mince, went off for an evening of Gay Bingo, leaving me to my own devices, which was nice. I did have the option of going along (since we had both been invited by our friend Robert, who wanted to introduce us to Henry, his new dog) but for one thing I wasn’t feeling too well, having been struck with a strange fever at about 1pm, and for another I have an aversion to Bingo, gay or otherwise. I once went out with a bingo caller from Clacton, whose name I cannot recall. I met him in the Black Cap in Camden and only remember that he had a bleached blonde mop and an eccentric line in drainpipe trousers.
I spent a quiet evening with Photoshop, with which I am slowly falling in love, editing my pictures.
I have been avoiding the cricket, which is a constant source of bewilderment to me. For me, it’s just Quidditch on the ground, searching for the golden snitch for three days.
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